Never Call Me Leo
by Crimson1
Summary: Leo is what Lewis called Len. When a man from his father's past uses the name, everything in Len snaps, and it takes Mick and Barry to rein him in and help him heal in the aftermath. For Barry, it seems there might be something more than respect for his nemesis that draws him to Len's defense. Slight spoilers for Legends episode Blood Ties.


I just really didn't like Len being called 'Leo' as a kid and got coerced to write this response. Hope you enjoy! I love how the ColdFlash aspect turned out.

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In the man's defense, he hadn't seen Len since before he was of legal drinking age.

An old friend of Lewis's. Old criminal friend who was just as useless and terrible a thief as Len's father had been. An utter waste of skin who Len recalled more than once discussing with Lewis the merits of teaching your kids—and your wife—'lessons', because it was the only way they'd ever learn. The type of greasy dried-up has-been Len had striven more than anything else to never become—not like his father, not like this man who came up to Len smiling when he recognized him, reaching out to grip Len's shoulder and even attempting to pull him in for a hug.

"Damn, kid, look at you all grown up. Haven't seen you in twenty years since I last did a job with your dad and moved my ass to Keystone. You still following in the old man's footsteps, Leo?"

Len saw red like he never did anymore, like he only had the day he killed his father, or when someone dared to hurt Lisa or one of his—admittedly very few—friends. He shrugged off the man's touch, took a step back, and was already reaching into his trench for where his cold gun was hidden…

If it hadn't been for the joint acts of Barry and Mick, both suddenly there at Len's side, he would have iced the man in plain view of everyone at the meetup. But Mick had known the second that nearly forgotten name was spoken, must have shot a knowing glance to Barry as he moved in to take the man out of Len's range, warning him to keep his distance, while Barry's hand gripped Len's wrist before he could finish drawing his weapon.

"Len?" Barry's concern was evident, dropping his 'Sam' persona that he'd once again donned for this mission, as he whispered close, with pleading, hazel eyes.

Len took a breath, willed himself not to tremble.

Mick's voice had risen as he kept the man from approaching Len again, the idiot clearly not getting that Len wanted nothing to do with him, until Mick had no choice but to pull back for a swing. The old criminal's nose cracked, broken on impact, but it was better than he deserved, and much kinder than what Len would have done if they hadn't stopped him.

"So when you said the best way to make it look like we belong is to start a fight, you weren't joking, huh?" Barry smiled, though his eyes betrayed how worried he was, he was just sweet and patient enough not to push for answers when Len obviously wasn't ready to give them.

They were in Central City, 2017, the current timeline after almost a year flying with Rip Hunter and the others. Len had encountered Barry plenty of times over those many months, and not always in present day. Sometimes in the past as a boy, or in the future in ways Len still couldn't quite wrap his head around.

Future!Barry, no matter how far into the future he was from, always looked at Len, well…the way this Barry was looking at him now. Caring. Understanding. Like a true friend would, someone who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself, but with something stronger and simmering in his gaze that Len had dismissed time and time again. He was reading into things. Just wishful thinking, imagining that the ring on Future!Barry's finger could belong to anyone other than Iris West.

He'd been so surprised to see her with a husband that wasn't Barry Allen in the not-too-distant future, but that didn't mean... It couldn't possibly mean…

Barry was still looking at him like he wanted to pull him into an embrace to wipe the panic and anger from Len's expression.

"Lewis called me Leo," Len said in a low voice only Barry could hear.

Len hadn't even thought about that since his trek to 1975, when his younger self had still liked the nickname his father gave him. In the years that followed he'd leaned more on what his mother called him—Len, Lenny. Never Leo. Nothing to tie him to his father.

Barry nodded, like that simple sentence was more than enough of an explanation. The kid knew. He'd seen it. Been part of it. And after a few stilted but heartfelt conversations over the past few months, he understood now why Lewis wasn't anyone to mourn over even more than he had that fateful day when Len shot an ice shard into the man's chest.

The man Mick had punched was being carted away by others there for the meeting with the newest mob family in town. The mystery group had been trying to take over streets Len considered his, property of the Rogues, who played by a different set of rules than most of these lowlifes. It had been Mick's idea to invite Barry, get a good foothold and see what sort of players these people would be, if they could play nice, or would need to be taken care of by the Rogues and Team Flash. Len definitely looked like he meant business after seemingly sicking Mick on the first person who'd approached him.

Barry's hand didn't pull away from gripping Len's wrist, even as Len started to relax. Only when everyone was called to attention to hear what these people had to say, did they move forward to the front of the room together with Mick and had to separate. Len couldn't very well appear before a mob family holding his subordinate's hand.

By the first full sentence out of the ringleader's mouth, Len knew these people were no match for his team, as insignificant as the man from Len's past. Len would take his leave tonight, show a little muscle in the coming weeks to push these up and comers back to their own territory, then worry if things escalated enough to include Barry.

Lisa could handle things if Len got called away on his next Legends mission. She ran the Rogues like clockwork in his absence. Everything was clockwork now, even team ups with The Flash, with barely even a humored word about Len still committing crimes.

"Nobody's perfect," Barry had shrugged once. "Not even heroes."

Kid always was a little shit.

"You okay?" Barry whispered when people started to disperse.

Len didn't get the chance to answer, because the head of this new family—Dunkirk, Irish mafia, which in and of itself might have proved interesting—a man who fell in between Len and Barry's ages, young to be in charge and more than a little green around the edges because of it, approached Len directly.

"Happy to see you showed, Cold. Mr. Rory. And…" He glanced a little too appraisingly at Barry. "One of your Rogues I've heard so much about?"

"Sam," Barry gave that adorably smug head title and grin that he thought made him look badass criminal but just made him look like a teenager who'd snuck out of the house for the night to play hookie on his curfew.

'Sam' didn't instill fear in anyone, but Barry wasn't there to be part of Len's intimidating muscle.

"Pleasure." Dunkirk drew his lips tight to manage a smile instead of the sneer Len knew he wanted to give. He pulled on a brighter smile though when turning back to Len. "We hope you'll consider our offer, Cold. No reason we can't be friendly."

"Agreed," Len smiled just as cordially, with a touch of threatening and 'don't even think of trying to touch me'. The man smartly didn't offer a hand to shake. "Of course the way you've been moving into certain neighborhoods of ours may require some…conversations in the future. You understand."

A twist to Dunkirk's smile. "Wasn't aware you claimed too many neighborhoods, Cold. Can't we agree to share?"

Len stood a little taller to meet this blatant challenge. No one else invited carried as much clout as he did; they'd all left quietly. But several of Dunkirk's own muscle started to gather around. "I don't share, Mr. Dunkirk. Not my streets. Not my toys." He made a show of parting his trench coat enough so that the cold gun in its holster was visible.

Dunkirk flashed his eyes to Barry again. "I'm sure you don't," he said pointedly. "But maybe we can part as friends for the time being. Talk again. Find a compromise."

"Doubtful. You take all the time you need to consider backing off from my neighborhoods. But continue to disrespect me and my people, and things might get a little chilly in here." Len powered up his gun, relishing in the familiar whir.

He saw the way Barry twitched, eyeing the men starting to surround them. He couldn't risk showing off his powers directly or he'd give away that he was The Flash. Len felt for the kid, but he couldn't let this sort of behavior stand. Mick also had a hand to his gun. But Barry stood between Mick and Dunkirk.

"My dear Captain Cold," Dunkirk said, raising a hand to bring down on Len's shoulder.

Len already felt himself ready to raise his gun and fire, in no mood to be lenient tonight, even if Barry was with them. But before he could react to the descending hand daring to touch him, Barry slipped up behind Dunkirk and twisted his other arm behind his back.

Dunkirk called out in surprise and pain as his suspended arm dropped before it could touch Len. The men surrounding them raised their pistols; a few had automatics.

"Nobody touches the boss," Barry said in a low growl Len didn't think he'd ever heard before—Sam carried some intimidation after all. "I thought we made that clear before the meeting started. So why don't we all just calm down and part as friends, like you said?"

Barry's grip was sure, locking Dunkirk in place. But something else was going on. Len could just barely see it, the subtle vibrations, the blurred motion of Barry's hand holding Dunkirk's wrist until—

Dunkirk gasped, and Barry allowed him to escape from his grasp. Dunkirk turned, backing away from the three of them toward his armed guards, rubbing his wrist that was now an angry, irritated red.

"We call Sam 'Friction Burn'," Len jumped in to get across that 'Sam' was indeed a meta; there was no way they could guess just why he could burn someone's skin like that. "Best not to touch him either."

Dunkirk glared at Barry, but backed up another step, clearly more wary of them now that he knew there was a meta in the group.

"Don't fool yourself into thinking that's all I can do," Barry added with an impressively sinister smile. Len never knew he had it in him. If only… Len could have imagined recruiting this version of Barry Allen into the Rogues for real in another life.

Dunkirk weighed his options, eyeing Len with his hand on the cold gun, Mick with his flame thrower, Barry with his strangely burning touch and open threats. Then he glanced at his armed men and waved at them to drop their weapons. Smart move.

"Go," Dunkirk spat. "We don't want any trouble from you and your…freaks," he sneered at Barry.

"Main Street down to Marshall is all mine," Len said as he let his coat flutter closed again, hiding his gun from view. "Remember that, and we might do business in the future. Forget…" Len grinned, letting Barry and Mick's like grins fill in any gaps in what he meant. "And you'll see us real soon."

Len took a long pause to look each of Dunkirk's goons in the eyes, then pivoted with a parting nod of his head and headed for the door. He heard Mick and Barry follow him without having to turn back.

Barry had learned a thing or two since his first stint pretending to walk on the dark side. They didn't speak until they'd cleared the two full blocks to where they'd parked Mick's car and Len's bike. Barry had met them there on foot—naturally.

"I'm out, boss," Mick said once they were clear. "Need anything else? Lisa wants a report on this one, then I'm meetin' up with Jax."

"Still teaching the kid to fight, Mick?" Len quirked a smile at his friend.

"Kid's a natural talent. Just needs direction. Too sloppy. Can't have him bein' a liability the next time he's away from Stein and can't blast the bad guys."

"And here I remember a time when you two were the bad guys," Barry snickered, a pleased smile lighting up his face.

Mick shot Barry an unimpressed scowl. "You wanna go any time, Flash, just say so. Now you two play nice." He cast one last lingering glance at Len—a question as well as reassurance, all wrapped up in what had happened with that man from Len's past. From his father's past.

Len nodded. He'd be fine. No words needed to pass between him and Mick to get that across.

As Mick headed off, Len expected Barry to give one of his usual speeches, since he'd practically already begun—about how good Len could be, had started to become, if only he'd give in more often and play hero. Funny how Len never tired of hearing those words, though Barry had started to sound like a broken record, and really…it wasn't as necessary anymore.

But instead, Barry caught Len's eye and backed up toward an alleyway behind them. Len tilted his head in confusion at first, but willingly followed when Barry turned and walked headlong into the alley itself.

It was one of those half alleys, barely wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder, dark, and dank, but very secluded other than the opening out to the street.

"What's up, Scarlet? I have places to be the rest of the night. If I need your help with Dunkirk in the future, I'll let you know. Doubtful he'll make any waves now, though."

Barry's eyebrows downturned as he spun back to face Len, changing his face entirely from the endearing tease he'd been a moment ago, or anything close to the aggressive power he'd displayed as Sam. "I've never heard anyone call you Leo before," he spoke softly, as if afraid to use the dreaded name himself, even as a mere mention. "But if you hate it so much, why don't you correct people when they call you 'Leonard'?"

"No point making a big deal over something to someone I'm never gonna see again. I save the pleasure of endearments for friends."

"That why so few people actually call you 'Len'?"

"Do I look like I'm surrounded by a loving support structure, Barry?"

Barry's eyebrows turned even more downward and puppy-like through his sweet smile. "Yeah. With some of the Rogues. With the Legends. It also makes me wonder…"

"What?"

"Why you bothered to correct me and asked me to call you 'Len'."

Shit.

Barry's smile brightened. "Are we friends now, Lenny?"

"Barry…"

"One of these days I'm gonna get you to admit that you like me. That you like all this heroism just as much as a good score. Just you wait."

"Really?" Len shot him a skeptical look. "You think so?"

Barry opened his mouth to say more but held back. A static silence filled the space between them, like a dare, like Barry was debating igniting something just on the edge of sparking.

He stepped closer to Len in the narrow alley, close enough that Len stuttered back before he could think better about betraying how startled he was, and tilted a little until his back hit the wall. Barry hesitated again but continued forward, into Len's space, almost but not quite touching him. He raised a hand, not to strike as Len had known too many times in his life, but to reach out, to…Len didn't know what, but he knew the gesture carried emotions with it that Len wasn't used to facing. Barry hovered there with his hand held up close to Len's face, waiting for permission, some sign that it was okay.

Len swallowed, his pulse picking up speed and throat feeling constricted as he nodded subtly, enough so Barry knew he could finish his trek. The kid's hand was so warm when it palmed his cheek.

"I like you," Barry said, somehow earnestly enough that it didn't sound like some stupid teenage confession, but as bare and open as if he'd said weightier words. "I like Len. Cold isn't so bad sometimes either, but Len…he's really starting to grow on me."

"Because you think I'm a hero now, Barry?"

"Because you're a survivor," Barry said, echoing what Len had said to Ray once, and damn if it didn't shake something loose inside Len's tightly wound chest. "But also…I think you're finally starting to recognize that surviving isn't enough on its own. You don't need to be a hero for that to be miraculous."

He stepped in closer, their chests nearly flush, Len cornered, practically pinned, and yet not feeling any claustrophobia the way he normally would. With Barry it felt somehow worthwhile, worth risking the rush of nerves for.

Len sucked in a breath as he felt Barry's other hand at his waist inside his trench coat, felt the thumb on his face brush his cheekbone. Barry leaned in, mouth descending toward his with none of the boyish hesitation Len would have expected, lips slightly parted as he—

"Fuck, Leo, shoulda known."

Seeing red didn't begin to cover it this time.

"Your old man would turn over in his grave. Heard you're the one that put him there. Didn't believe it. Now you might as well have, coz he'd die of disgust if he saw you with some _fairy_."

Barry's hand moving from Len's waist to his wrist, mirroring earlier, was the only thing that kept Len from pulling out his gun and ending that old bigot's rant in a stream of cold. The din of the man's continued words from the mouth of the alley where he'd stumbled upon them were drowned out as Len looked into Barry's steady gaze.

"I got this," Barry said.

He pulled away from Len slowly, turning toward the man staring at them with a glower around his badly broken, bloody, and bandaged nose.

"Don't see that big fella around no more," the man stood his ground as Barry approached him. "Think I'd be scared of some pansy like you? You lay one dirty hand on me—"

"Excuse me, sir?" Barry interrupted cheerily—frighteningly cheery, Len thought, especially since he couldn't see Barry's face from this angle. "But I think you need help straightening out that break."

Len blinked. A subtle shock of lightning at Barry's heels was the only tell.

The next thing Len knew there was a crack, from the speed, from the punch Barry threw, from the renewed break of the man's nose as Barry hit him with a left hook in opposition to Mick's earlier right. There was some slight super speed involved, Len could tell, and only because Barry used his non-dominant hand did the man still have a nose at all as he pitched to the side.

Len's jaw dropped in amazement. Sweet, heroic Barry Allen just punched an old man—for him. Coming to his own defense too, sure, but so clearly for Len.

The man groaned and sputtered, spitting blood onto the concrete, as he backed off and turned at a run rather than spout off any more offensive ramblings.

Barry's hand was shaking a little as he took a few deep breaths, backing into the alley again, like he needed to calm down before daring to face Len. He'd seemed so controlled, but Len saw the anger in the tremble of Barry's hand, so like Len's own as he reached toward Barry. He willed his hand to be steady as he gripped the sleeve of Barry's jacket and tugged.

Barry spun and Len pulled harder, pulled Barry all the way in until their mouths met as they hadn't been allowed to before. Len opened his mouth with an eager stroke of his tongue against Barry's, needing to go all in to ground himself, and feeling a shiver of pleasure rush down into his gut when Barry's tongue met his with equal passion.

Barry's hand was soon at his waist again, the other cupping his cheek again, the ruined moment rekindled, lingering as Len raised both arms to wrap around Barry's neck and pulled him into his body.

Len sagged against the wall of the alley, holding Barry to him, panting as they kissed deeper, deeper, twirling their tongues and tilting their heads to try every angle. So many angles, Len thought, as he felt the hand at his waist tease the line of his pants, tug at his shirt, until he pulled a corner free and got a feel of smooth skin around to Len's bare back.

"Better move this elsewhere, Scarlet," Len said, breathless and dizzy and warm all over, "before any other interruptions arise."

Barry giggled against his lips. "Something's rising all right. You really have other things you need to do tonight?"

"Yes," Len said succinctly. "You."

Barry giggled again. "Your place or mine?"

"You still live at home?"

"You know I don't."

"Then how about yours this time?"

"This time? Already assuming there'll be another?" The smile in Barry's voice, on his handsome face was too infectious. Len never smiled this openly, but he couldn't hold back an answering expression.

"I have a sneaky suspicion there will be."

"Mmm…" Barry hummed. "So can I call you 'Lenny' in the bedroom?"

Len chuckled gruffly. "Kid, you can call me whatever you want. Just never call me Leo."

Barry huffed bitterly, brow furrowing, because he understood that all of this, tonight, came from something personal and deeply wound inside of Len that few people ever knew or saw. Barry was a rare exception. The rarest.

Len gasped as Barry slid his arm fully around his waist and pulled him closer, his other hand sliding from Len's face to his neck to support him, preparing to take off at Flash speeds. Len could get his bike in the morning. Being moved by Barry's power always thrilled him, always made him shiver with anticipation. Len held on tighter around Barry's neck.

Barry's voice was a steady whisper as he said, "Len it is."

* * *

THE END


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